When I arrived home tonight, half the neighborhood was dark, the traffic lights were out, the rain was pouring down and the sidewalks were slick with leaves. I imagined that the power outage was the last desperate tactic of a fading regime: Cheney's ghost army launching an assault on liberal enclaves, declaring martial law and suspending the election. Thankfully, the grocery store had enough juice to run the cash register and sell me a bottle of wine. I appreciate the friendly customer service I get there, which will make it harder when the looting starts.

The electricity stayed on long enough for dinner to be cooked, giving out at the moment we sat to eat. Denied our MSNBC fix, we lit candles and I offered to ad lib an update on polling from the swing states, or to map out the scenarios under which McCain might clinch the race: "If he wins Colorado, but Obama takes Ohio and Florida, then he'll have to lock up Pennsylvania, but only if Mercury is in retrograde and he swings a dead cat counterclockwise... But if he loses Colorado, and Nevada secedes ..." The blackout was over within half an hour. This election will soon be over.

I feel the anticipation of Christmas Eve. I should be up late into the night, wrapping gifts while watching the Pope on TV as the rest of the houshold sleeps, visions of sugar plums in their heads. Will there be a bicycle under the tree, or an ugly sweater? I can hardly wait to find out.

Here's a lovely hymn by Paul Simon to lull me to sleep; after all, tomorrow's going to be another working day, and I'm trying to get some rest. That's all, I'm trying to get some rest.